Rockin' New Year's Eve
by clagjanet
Summary: In response to a Facebook challenge to tell the story of how a secondary character spends the holidays. This story tells the tale of five times Efraim Beaman worked on New Year's Eve - and one time he didn't.


Disclaimer: none of these characters belong to me; they belong to Shoot the Moon Enterprises and Warner Bros to whom I am eternally grateful for the opportunity to take them out for a spin and bit of light humour.

A/N: In response to a FB challenge to tell the story of how a minor character spends Christmas or New Year's Eve. Once again, I'm stealing a concept I saw in other fandoms to string together a series of events in a 5+1 story. Many thanks as always to the women who so kindly check these over for me before I embarrass myself: Lanie S., Taya J. and Sheila. E.

* * *

I. December 31, 1982

"Wow, kid, I know the low man on the totem pole gets stuck with this job, but am I reading this right? You actually _volunteered_ for tonight?"

Efraim looked up at the older man who was sitting with his feet up on the desk opposite him.

"Yessir, Mr. Reilly, Sir."

"Cut the 'Sir" crap, Beaman. In fact, cut the "Mr. Reilly" crap too – just call me Humbug. Everyone else does."

"Yes Sir, sorry Sir. I mean… yes, Humbug. Sir."

Reilly cackled and threw the file in his hand down on the desk. "So how come a young buck like yourself actually volunteers to work on New Year's Eve?"

Efraim shrugged. "It's just always seemed like a pointless night to me. People get dressed up, go to overly loud parties and count down to midnight as if absolutely everything is going to change, when absolutely nothing does. And since the other new recruits actually had plans, I offered to work it."

Reilly stared at him with narrowed eyes. "You're awfully young to have figured out that it's all a giant scam, Beaman. Do I detect a New Year's Eve gone wrong in your past?"

"Nope, nothing that exciting," replied Efraim. "Just never found a way to spend the evening that appealed to me." He leaned forward and picked the coffee cup off his desk. "How about you? Don't you have somewhere better to be?"

"Not really. Same as you, I guess," Reilly waved off his question. "My wedding anniversary is January 3rd so my wife and I usually save our celebrating for that. Makes it much easier to have a nice dinner out and the place to ourselves – and that's what we'd rather celebrate anyway."

"How many years will it be this year?" asked Efraim.

"Forty-two," said Humbug with satisfaction. "We got married just before I shipped out in 1942 – just after Pearl Harbor, you know? Didn't get to spend our first few together but I made it home in time to spend our fourth together – and we haven't been apart since. But I've spent all these years making up for missing those first three."

"Sounds romantic," answered Efraim wistfully.

"It is," agreed Humbug. "Most people just think I'm the cranky old man in the office, but mostly I'm cranky because I'd rather be at home in bed with my wife." He grinned at the nonplussed expression on Beaman's face. "What? You think sex stops after age 30? You've got a lot to learn, kid."

Fortunately for Beaman, he didn't have to answer that because the phone rang, and Humbug nodded toward it. "Almost midnight - this is when it starts to get busy."

"Operations. Please identify yourself," Efraim said into the receiver.

"Foxtrot Delta Thirty-eight Charlie requesting pick-up at Soviet Embassy." The stern female voice at the other end of the line was instantly recognizable to anyone who had sat through the recruit classes recently.

"Right away, Ms. Desmond," Efraim managed to say without stammering - to his amazement. Mr. Melrose's assistant was the most drop-dead gorgeous woman he'd ever seen in his life and he'd barely been able to speak two words in all of the orientation briefings, three if you counted 'ma'am' on the rare occasions when he'd managed "Yes Ma'am" and "No Ma'am."

"You know who I am?" Francine asked with surprise at the other end of the line.

"Yes, ma'am. I have the check-in sheet in front of me," Efraim lied. No way would he admit that he knew her voice from hanging around the break room to hear her chatting with Scarecrow or how he always volunteered to take things to Melrose, just on the off chance that he'd catch a glimpse of her in the bullpen.

"Well, get whoever is on cab duty tonight to come get me and bring me back to the Agency. I've been pawed by guys named Sergei enough for one night and have no desire to be manhandled more at midnight. The last one made me break a heel off my new shoe."

"That sounds painful," he remarked sympathetically. Inwardly he was screaming at how easy it was to have a somewhat normal conversation with Francine when she wasn't looking at him.

"It was painful – he'll have to get a tetanus shot from where it broke off in his thigh when I stabbed him with it," answered Francine.

"Oh my," said Efraim taken aback slightly. "I'll get Duffy over there right away."

"And one more thing – is Humbug on duty tonight?"

"Yes Ma'am. He's showing me the ropes." Efraim could see Reilly's eyes crinkling up with laughter across the desk.

"Well, tell him from me that when I get there I'm going to bore him with every last detail about how I got the inside scoop on the Bulgarian operation with nothing more than a seductive smile and a strategically placed slit in my dress."

Efraim's mouth went dry at that mental image. "Yes Ma'am, I will. Anything else?" he managed to croak out.

"Yeah, tell him he's a Paleolithic-era son of a bitch male chauvinist pig with no comprehension of the merits of female agents and that I've stolen him a bottle of Glenfiddich from the ambassador's private stock."

"Yes Ma'am." Efraim hung up the phone carefully, then picked up the radio to call Duffy and send him to the Soviet Embassy before relaying a more polite version of Francine's comments to Humbug, much to the other man's entertainment.

"That Francine is a real firecracker, isn't she?" he chuckled. "And don't think I don't know she didn't use any of those polite namby-pamby words in that message – I can see from your face that she didn't."

"She was slightly more… vehement," admitted Efraim.

"I just bet she was. I was her mentor when she first started here and she was a fighter even then. Big chip on her shoulder and the brightest thing I'd seen in forever. I used to push her harder than anyone else in that recruit class and she thrived on it. Almost lost her to the lure of matrimony a while back but thank heavens that fell through."

"She seems to kind of hate you?" hazarded Efraim. "Except she's bringing you that scotch?"

"Take it from me. Someday – if you last here long enough – you are going to end up having to help train someone that you can tell instinctively is going to be better than you ever were. And usually those ones have had it easy – always the smartest ones in their class, coasted through and they think they're going to be great at this, but sometimes they're the other kind. The ones that need to be pushed to show their full potential. Those are the ones you have to be hardest on – make 'em work for it, make it look like you don't think much of them. It gets their dander up and they'll thrive on the challenge. And if they don't-" he shrugged, "They were never really cut out for this job."

He reached down and pulled a bottle from the bottom drawer of his desk and reached across to pour a little bit into Efraim's coffee over his protestations. "It's almost midnight, Beaman. Just enjoy a little on-the-job drink on me." He poured the remainder into his own coffee cup and lifted it in a mocking toast. "Here's to 1983 – may we live in interesting times."

 _Funny_ , thought Beaman. _I always thought that was supposed to be a curse_.

* * *

II. December 31, 1983

"Back again this year, Beaman? You really need a decent social life," cracked Humbug from where he was tilting back in his chair so far that Efraim couldn't imagine how the laws of physics wasn't sending him tumbling.

"Still not my scene," he responded. "And as hard as it is to believe, this fine specimen of manhood still can't find anyone other than you who wants to spend New Year's Eve with him."

"You're just not looking hard enough," grinned the older man. "Or you're setting the bar too high."

Efraim shrugged. "You said it yourself – the best agents thrive on a challenge." He picked up the check-out sheet and glanced down it to see who was in the field tonight. No Francine – so no chance on another friendly phone call tonight, he sighed internally. "Besides, the guy with the least seniority these days also has a four-week old baby – I figured he needed the night off more than I did."

"Careful there, Beaman, your niceness is showing," Reilly teased him. "How are you going to turn into a grumpy old fart like me if you're nice to people?"

"Speaking of old farts, why aren't you dead yet? Aren't you about a hundred years old?" Efraim shot back.

Humbug gave a shout of laughter. "Not quite my boy – 64 years and 10 months. Only another 54 days in here and then I'm free! And you'll have to muddle through without coming up to pick my brains for your classes every other day!"

Efraim nodded, suddenly serious. "I'll miss that," he said. "It won't be the same around here without you cackling away in the corner like one of Macbeth's witches."

Humbug snorted at him. "Don't go all maudlin on me now, Beaman. You might get used to letting people see past that stick-up-your-butt exterior if you're not careful."

"Not much chance of that," sighed Efraim. "Nobody's ever going to mistake me for a suave secret agent. I'll be leaving that up to the studs like Stetson."

Humbug studied him carefully across the desk before deciding that it was actually just self-deprecation and not to be taken seriously. "So did you have your 12-month review with Melrose? Picked a specialization yet?"

"Yeah," Efraim nodded. "I'm going into Fabrications for a while. I like that kind of thing – a bit of imagination and a lot of attention to detail – it appeals to me."

"Lonely though," commented Humbug neutrally.

"I'm used to being alone; I'm not much of a people person," shrugged Efraim. "But the Fab Lab is actually a bit like a frat house actually – everyone has their own projects but when they need to blow off steam..."

"There's usually actually steam?" finished Humbug, chuckling.

"Yep," laughed Efraim. "All in the name of science, of course."

"Well, that would explain how all of Mrs. King's cookies in the coffee room got replaced with perfect rubber replicas before anyone else got any."

"A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do." Efraim grinned at the man who'd become his friend over the past year. "And Fielder doesn't deserve anything as good as those cookies."

"You're just lucky it wasn't her brownies or Francine would have come after you," said Humbug. "And speak of the devil, who do we have here?"

Efraim swivelled in time to see Francine walk into the bullpen, carrying a decorative gift bag and a larger, plain brown paper one.

"Well if there's anyone who can recognize the devil in all her forms, it's you, Satan's minion," Francine smirked at Humbug as she walked toward them. She put the brown paper bag down on the desk. "Figured you could use some takeout right about now since I know you never eat enough if Mary isn't around to remind you."

"Forty-three years and she still gets to enjoy nagging me about that," agreed Humbug peering into the bag. "Szechuan Palace! My favourite! Thank you, M'dear."

"My pleasure," said Francine. "And speaking of Mary – I also brought you this since I probably won't see you before your anniversary." She placed the other bag on the table, tipping it slightly so they could see the top of the champagne bottle it contained. "I thought she might want to drink away the memory of having agreed to put up with you all these years."

"I'm sure she will." Humbug's eyes twinkled up at her. "And someday when you make the same mistake, I'll be first in line to toast your lapse in judgement."

"Oh that's not going to happen anytime soon," snorted Francine. "Once bitten, twice shy for me."

"Ah, you just got bit by the wrong dog," said Humbug waving his hand dismissively. "You'll do way better than that Stone idiot next time."

"Whatever you say, Humbug," said Francine in a skeptical tone. She turned to look at Efraim. "I forgot there'd be two of you here when I picked up the food. It's Beaman, right?"

Efraim nodded, dumbly.

"Well, there's probably enough there to share if Humbug isn't his usual miserly self." The smile she turned on the other agent took the sting out of the insult.

"Mrs. King dropped by earlier with some snacks too," Efraim managed to stammer out.

"Well if Mom's been by, you're set for the perfect evening," she said with a smirk.

"You have big plans this year?" asked Humbug. "Off to any parties for the cognoscenti?"

"Nothing like that," she answered. "Actually I have a hot date at the hospital."

Both men automatically gave her a quick onceover, looking for injury and seeing nothing.

"Why the hospital?" Efraim was the first to ask.

"Lee's still stuck in there after his Christmas Eve mishap and I said I'd come see in the New Year with him," she answered. "Take him some takeout, keep him from breaking his resolution to stop yelling at the nurses, that kind of thing."

"Ah well then, give him my best," said Humbug.

"I will. Happy New Year, Humbug," she replied, leaning down to kiss him lightly on the cheek.

Efraim held his breath as she straightened and turned to him. "You too, Beaman" she went on, holding out her hand and shaking his firmly. "Don't let this old fart corrupt you too much."

And then with a flurry of silk dress and fur coat, she was gone again, leaving just the lingering scent of her perfume.

"You might want to pick your jaw up off the floor there, Kiddo," teased Humbug. "People will figure out you like that girl."

Efraim closed his mouth, then opened it again to protest before closing it again with a grunt of acknowledgement. He pointed to the brown paper bag. "Shut up and pass me the snow pea chow mein, Old Man."

* * *

III. December 31st 1984

The slightly giggly voice at the end of the line wasn't what Efraim had expected as his first call of the evening. It was still only 11:30 and most of the agents who were working tonight didn't have a check in due for another hour at least.

"Operations – please identify yourself," he'd said and then the avalanche of words had rolled down the phone line at him.

"Oh hello – it's Amanda King. I don't have a call sign or anything, but I guess I could give you my employee number or something. I mean I'm probably not even on your list for the evening because I'm only here as Lee's date, Lee Stetson that is, Scarecrow… Lee, what's your call number?" Her voice had gone slightly muffled as she turned to talk to her partner. "No, Lee, not your phone number. I'm sure every girl here already has that – I need your call number for the check-in desk. No, I know it's not time for our check-in although how you are managing to keep track of that in your current state is beyond me. It's what? Okay." Her voice came back clearer again. "Lima Sierra Niner Indigo – sorry India - well it's not my fault if you won't stop slurring, Lee Stetson! Requesting a pickup at the Soviet Embassy. Please."

Efraim had to hide the smile in his voice at that soft spoken 'please' at the end. Amanda King had to be the most unfailingly polite person he'd ever met in his life. "Mr. Stetson isn't on the list as requiring transport this evening, Mrs. King. Didn't he drive there?"

"Oh yes, he did," she agreed, laughter evident in her voice. "But he's in no state to drive home and I don't want him sending another car off a cliff."

"Has he been injured in some way?" quizzed Efraim, even as he pulled up the list to see who was on cab duty tonight.

"Oh no – he was just on the losing end of a toasting competition about who was more grateful to the other about dismantling that bomb in Arlington." She paused and hiccupped slightly. "Oh my gosh – I probably wasn't supposed to say anything to anyone about the bomb was I? I don't even know if you're cleared for that. Need to know and all that spy stuff."

It was becoming rapidly apparent that, while considerably more sober than her companion, Mrs. King might have also been indulging a little in the Soviet hospitality.

"It's fine, Mrs. King. Everyone here knows all about the Arlington bomb." Efraim chuckled slightly – with luck she'd never find out that was her new nickname in some corners of the Agency. "It's going to be a few minutes before I can get someone there to pick you up. Couldn't you get a cab instead?"

Amanda did laugh out loud then. "Oh no, we tried that – but no one wants to take him with the b*&%t all over him."

"I'm sorry – I didn't catch that – did you say with the barf all over him?" Apparently the party at the Soviet Embassy had taken a turn for the worse.

"No," giggled Amanda "Borscht – he's covered in borscht. It's gone from a white tie affair to something out of Texas Chainsaw Massacre over here."

Her laughter was infectious and Efraim couldn't help grinning down the line. "I look forward to reading the report, Mrs. King. Agent Simpson will be with you in fifteen minutes."

"Thank you," came the soft reply and then as he began to hang up, he could hear her shrieking.

"Lee Stetson, you put me down! No, I am not going to tango with you!" and then the phone went dead.

Still chuckling, he radioed to Simpson to make sure he took someone with him to collect Stetson's car from the valet service and take it to the motor pool for the usual sweep for bugs and tracking devices after its stay in the Soviet embassy parking lot. He had just finished up when a voice spoke at his elbow, sending him six inches off his chair.

"Humbug said you'd be working again. That's $20 I owe him because you have no social life."

He swivelled to find Francine staring at him stonily. "I… you… what?" he stammered.

Francine swung a paper bag up on the desk along with a couple of plates from the break room and then pulled up a chair to start pulling takeout boxes out. "Humbug called and bet me $20 you'd be working again on New Year's Eve even though it's definitely not your turn since you've done it the last two years already."

"I like working it. If the movies are right and the zombies do attack while everyone is drunk, I'll be safe underground," he answered, then kicked himself for sounding even more nerdy than usual.

"Sound thinking," she answered without batting an eye. "Glad to hear you think like a good agent." She finished pulling out the boxes and pushed one toward him. "He also said that I should bring you something to eat because you don't have a Mary who makes you eat dinner. He said you like the snow pea thing, so I got a large portion."

"Thank you," he muttered, grabbing a fork, thankful that eating would make his lack of conversational skills less evident.

"So why does Amanda need picking up?" she asked gesturing to the phone. "Did I hear you mention barf?"

"Not her so much from the sounds of it, but Stetson is too drunk to drive and apparently he's covered in borscht," he managed to get out between mouthfuls of Chinese food. "Should be a fun report to read."

"I'll look forward to it." Francine had put down the container of ginger chicken she was working on and peered over at the box he'd just dished out of. "So that snow pea thing is good? I haven't tried it before."

He pushed the box toward her. "It's my favorite. Try some."

She loaded some on to her plate and took a mouthful before nodding appreciatively. "You're right. It's good. I'll get more of that next time."

 _Next time?_ His heart stopped a bit before he realized she probably just meant next time she ordered it for herself.

They sat in silence for a few minutes more, both intent on their food, before she glanced at her watch and sighed. "Almost midnight. Your phone is going to be blowing up for the next hour. I'm going to go finish up some paperwork, so call if you need help with anything."

"So why are you here on New Year's Eve anyway?" he got the courage to ask.

Francine shrugged. "Just too people-y out there for me tonight. And I'm still trying to get everything back in place after that Possum fiasco. I don't know who threw everything into boxes, but it's been three weeks and I'm still only halfway back to being organized."

"Oh, well thanks for the dinner. Humbug was right – I forgot to bring anything with me."

"You're welcome. But really it's him you should be thanking. Maybe I'll tell him I spent the $20 he won on your dinner."

Efraim reached for his wallet. "No, I should pay you for it – it was nice of you to bring me anything."

She held up an imperious hand. "Beaman – learn to take a joke – I'll just expense it. No big deal. Now get eating before the craziness starts." She gestured to his plate as she picked up her own and started to walk out the door. "Happy New Year, Beaman."

"Happy New Year to you too," he managed to get out before she disappeared completely.

It took him ten more minutes to realize that actually, she couldn't have had that bet with Humbug – she had to have known he was working since she would have helped Billy put together the work assignments for tonight.

 _Huh,_ he thought. _Happy New Year to me_.

* * *

IV. December 31st, 1985

"Oh are you working tonight too?" asked Amanda, peering into the dimly lit office.

Efraim had come well prepared this year with snacks and a good book. Well, a good book of software programming, that is. The Agency had finally started to get some decent computers – computers that did more than just act as databases and word processors- and he'd finally been able to get back to his first love. Not that he didn't enjoy Fabrications – it was just that there was something about getting to create programmes out of nothing but brain power that was intensely satisfying. He was pretty sure that he could come up with some programmes that would show Billy how useful the computers could be in helping crack cases or support missions.

"It's become kind of my tradition, Mrs. King. But why are you here? Shouldn't you be home with your family?"

Amanda looked a bit flustered at the question. "Oh well, my boys are spending the evening with my husband, I mean my ex-husband. He just got home from Africa." She paused while he nodded – _everyone_ knew about the circumstances surrounding Joe King's arrival home. "And they asked me to come along but that seemed like a bad precedent so I told them I had to work and here I am." She spread her hands as she finished speaking.

"They believed you when you told them a film company was making you work on New Year's Eve?" he asked disbelievingly.

"Oh they're getting used to my crazy excuses," she laughed. "I told them we were filming the fireworks down on the Mall."

"And will Scarecrow be joining us as well?" Like most of the Agency, Efraim thought Scarecrow and Amanda might just as well be joined at the hip, the way you rarely saw one without the other, but for some reason, that question seemed to fluster her more.

"Oh no! I'm sure he's out on a date. Or something. Anyway, he's not here." she said. "It's just me tonight."

"Well, it should be a quiet evening tonight. There's only three agents out on active duty."

"But isn't one of them Fred Fielder?" she asked, dark eyes laughing. "That's always dangerous."

"You're right - I should probably have the medical team on standby," he agreed dolefully as she giggled. He took another closer look at her. "Are you feeling alright Mrs. King? You're not coming down with the flu or anything are you?"

"No – not that I know of," Amanda said in confusion. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, it's 73 degrees in here and you're wearing a heavy sweater," he pointed out.

"Oh! That," she muttered, looking down as if she was only just noticing what she was wearing. "I've just started wearing warmer clothes lately – still haven't quite shaken the chill of that freezer, I guess."

Efraim shivered slightly in sympathy. "Oh yes – I heard about that." He paused and tried to sound diffident. "But you and Ms. Desmond appear to have survived it quite well."

The smile, quickly hidden, told him that he hadn't quite managed to hide his interest in that outcome.

"Mmm-hmm. Pretty much unscathed," she agreed. "Although I don't suggest getting locked in a small room with an angry Francine as a fun way to spend the afternoon."

He wasn't sure what expression had gone across his face at that mental image, but whatever it was made Amanda duck her head to hide her smile again.

"I brought cake," she offered when the silence went on a little bit too long.

"Poppyseed?" he asked hopefully.

"You bet," she answered cheerfully. "I had a chocolate one but I gave that to… someone else." The gurgle of laughter in her voice made him think there was a joke he wasn't getting.

"Great. I've ordered some Chinese food for later if you're interested."

"That would be nice," she replied. "I'll, um, leave you to it for now. I can see you're deep in your book."

"Oh! Yes! Fascinating stuff," he answered, waving toward the coding book. "I'm in nerd heaven."

"I bet." Amanda had already started to move toward the door before he got up his courage.

"Mrs. King, can I ask you something?"

"Of course, Mr. Beaman, anything," she answered, with some surprise.

"Um, I don't have a lot of friends here at the Agency – none that I can ask anyway – but you seem like you might tell me without giving me a hard time."

Amanda's brow was wrinkled in complete confusion now. "Okay," she said doubtfully. "I'll try. What do you want to know?"

He took in a deep breath and then let the question burst out of him. "What exactly did I do at the Christmas party?" He could see the amusement on her face and rushed to elaborate. "I don't know what was in that punch but I don't remember exactly – or at least I hope I'm remembering some of it wrong – but I've been getting these looks from people all week…"

"Ah, well," hedged Amanda. "You didn't do anything really terrible. You were just kinda… funny."

"Funny?" He didn't like the sound of that. "Funny how?"

"Well, you might've said something about how glad you were that Francine hadn't frozen to death and that she should never have to be cold again and then you might have offered to take her to a nice warm Greek island to raise goats."

"Goats?" he repeated.

"Yep. And I think there may have been something about Greek yogurt having more culture per square inch than any day in the bullpen," she added carefully.

Efraim dropped his head in his hands. "Oh God. I actually said all that?"

"Yes, but you were very sweet about it," Amanda rushed to say.

He looked up at her between his fingers; her expression had nothing but sympathy.

"Anything else?" he asked in a strangled voice.

"No, I think that was it. You, um, well… Francine took you off somewhere by your ear after that, I think."

Efraim raised his hand unconsciously to where his ear was still slightly sore. "Great."

"I'll just go get that cake," offered Amanda, breaking the silence.

"Great," he repeated dully and watched her disappear out the door.

He'd hoped that memory of being led to a bathroom and having someone hold onto the back of his shirt while he puked had been just a dream, but apparently not – and it couldn't have been a worse person. He opened his desk drawer and flinched at the sight of the whisky bottle Humbug had sent him for Christmas.

"At least this year I've got a resolution," he muttered, closing the drawer again. "Happy Effing New Year."

* * *

V. December 31, 1986

"Efraim, is this yours?"

Efraim closed his eyes and groaned slightly at that dreaded question. He turned slowly in his chair to face the woman who was standing in the doorway of his office. Francine had the beginnings of a smile on her lips and she was holding up a brown paper bag.

"This just got delivered upstairs – I assume it's for you and your traditional New Year's soiree?" she was asking now.

"Yes," he managed to get that out.

"Did you get the snow pea chow mein?" she asked, still swinging the bag.

"Yes," he repeated.

"Good. I'll go get some plates," she announced, dropping it on the desk.

By the time she returned, he'd managed to get his heart rate back down to something approaching normal. He let her dish out hers first, then dumped the rest out onto his plate, and began to eat. Finally when he couldn't stand the embarrassed silence any longer, he looked up and found her grinning at him.

"I really am sorry," he muttered.

"About the Christmas party?" she asked. "Forget about it, liquor under the bridge," she went on, waving her fork in a dismissive manner.

"You know, I gave up drinking at all after last year's," he said morosely.

"That's probably what made you susceptible to the punch this year," she answered. "You need to build up a tolerance for Leatherneck's moonshine."

He could only manage a grunt of agreement.

"At least you're still talking to me this year. Last year it was months before you could look me in the eye again."

He could hear the amusement in her voice and took some comfort in it.

"So why are you here again this year?" she asked. "You're really messing with the tradition of training up the rookies, you know."

"I like it. It's quiet. I get stuff done. I can pretend I'm doing something for my country instead of admitting I can't get a date."

"That not what I hear," she said. "Roxanne would go out with you again if you asked."

Efraim barely controlled the shudder that thought provoked, but not the "Oh no!" that sprang out of him.

" _Oh_ _no_? Why ever not?" Something in her tone told him she knew exactly why.

"She's not exactly the brightest bulb, is she?" he asked rhetorically.

"Not exactly, no," she agreed. "Yesterday I made some comment about Boris Yeltsin rising up through the ranks of the Politburo and she asked me if he was the one that the Bullwinkle cartoons were based on."

Efraim choked on his sweet and sour. "She did not!"

"Okay, no she didn't – but you could still tell she had no idea who I was talking about. We should let her get kidnapped by Russian agents sometime and spill everything she knows. We'd win the Cold War in a few weeks."

"Probably," he agreed. There was another stretch of silence until he finally got the nerve to break it. "So why are you here tonight? Don't you have a string of men waiting to escort you to the best parties?"

"I do," she said in an offhanded acknowledgement of that fact. "But I wasn't in the mood to go out tonight."

"Really?" he asked unable to mask his disbelief.

"Really," she said firmly. "Tonight I just wanted to work and not think about life above ground."

"Because of the zombies out there?" he asked. "Was that who brought the Chinese food?"

"Not zombies," she sighed. "Memories."

"Ah," he responded, returning his gaze to his plate.

"Chicken," she said eventually.

"I didn't order any chicken," he answered, poking into the takeout boxes.

"I meant you – you're a chicken for not asking me," she muttered.

"It's none of my business," he said.

"That doesn't usually stop anyone in here from asking anything," she laughed, suddenly in a better humour. "I was supposed to be getting married five years ago tonight."

"Seriously?" His eyes had flown up to meet hers with shock.

"Oh yes – hadn't you heard? I was abandoned at the altar like Miss Havisham, left to wander the hallways of the Agency, mourning what could have been." There was the slightest edge to her tone that wasn't completely hidden by the forced lightness.

"Humbug once said we'd almost lost you to matrimony and thanked his lucky stars we hadn't but I never knew what he meant," he admitted. "He left you? Not the other way around?"

"You think I'm cruel enough to leave someone at the altar, Efraim?"

"No, I just can't imagine a man stupid enough to leave you anywhere."

"Good save," she remarked, digging her fork back into her dinner.

"Did he give you a reason?" he couldn't help asking.

"Oh yes," she answered. "He left me a really lovely letter explaining all the ways I was so much stronger than he was and that I needed to be free to pursue my dreams, unfettered by someone who would only hold me back."

"Wow, he really was an idiot," said Efraim before he could help himself.

"Well thank you for that," she said. "He wasn't quite as idiotic as that makes him sound. And sometimes I can go long stretches without missing him. He did have a way of making me laugh."

"You mean, without embarrassing himself in front of the entire office?" he asked.

Francine's laugh burst out of her. "Yes, sometimes even without that," she agreed. She gave a sigh and stared at the ceiling. "I'm just feeling a bit off this year. Maybe it's seeing Lee and Amanda looking so happy that's bothering me, like I'm missing out on something."

"Are they, uh… dating?" he asked, knowing that wasn't quite the word he wanted.

"They pretend they're not, but they're insufferably cute if you sneak up on them," said Francine. "I thought she was a fool to run off with him when Makarov was trying to set him up, but when Birol took her…" She lapsed into silence.

"That was a bad time," he commented.

"Lee was like a man possessed," she said finally. "I can't even imagine Jonathan acting like that in the same situation."

 _Then he was the wrong man for you_ , he thought, for once managing not to blurt the words out loud.

"Anyway," she went on brightly. "From what I hear, Lee spent Christmas Eve with Amanda's family – so with luck they didn't like him and they won't be too upset when they break up."

"When? Not if?"

"Oh, Scarecrow's still in there – he'll never last trying to settle down with a suburban mother."

"Amanda's much more than a suburban mother these days," he defended her.

"Oh ho! So you do like her then? All I ever hear from Lee is complaints about how you're such a hard ass to her in your classes, picking on her and making her prove herself over and over."

"That's because she's the best one in there," he grinned. "Don't tell her I said so."

"Why not?" she asked with real interest.

"A wise man told me a long time ago that someday I'd have to train an agent who would be better than me and that my job was to push them – to make them thrive on the challenge. Force the cream to the top, that sort of thing."

Francine gave him a knowing look. "That sounds like Humbug talking."

"It is. And he was talking about you." He smiled at the look of surprise he'd managed to evoke.

"That old bugger," she said finally, shaking her head. "He still haunts the place."

Something in her mood made him reckless. "So just out of curiosity, why are _you_ so mean to Amanda?" he asked, surprised when she answered readily.

"Same thing really," she admitted. "I mean, when I first met her, I didn't have much time for her, but she's grown on me. And once I realized she wasn't going anywhere, it seemed like it was my job to remind her from time to time that this business isn't easy for a woman and that she needed to be able to stand on her own two feet and not count on Lee all the time."

"It's more like the other way around if you ask me," he answered.

"It is, isn't it?" she dimpled at him. "He had no idea when he picked her off the platform what he was letting himself in for. Anyway, whether he manages to not screw this up or not, I feel like it's my job to make sure we don't lose one of the smartest people we ever recruited by accident. If I'm going to get Billy's job someday, I'll want her around to be my Francine Desmond." She smiled more broadly. "Don't tell her I said so."

"Your secret's safe with me," he smiled back.

This was the most relaxed conversation he'd ever had managed to have with Francine without making a fool of himself, but of course it couldn't last. The phone rang at that moment making them both jump. Francine glanced at her watch.

"Just past midnight – let the craziness begin," she said, getting up and picking up their empty plates.

"Operations, please identify yourself," said Efraim picking up the receiver. "Oh, hello Fred," he sighed, looking up to meet Francine's amused expression.

"Happy New Year, Beaman" she mouthed from the doorway.

"You too," he mouthed back before turning his attention back to the phone. "What have you done now, Fred?"

* * *

And I... January 1st, 1989

He'd been right all those years ago, he thought. Winter in DC was just too gloomy and grey. This was so much better – this rocky island piece of heaven with its white sand beaches and its azure sky and sea was so much better. And last night lying on the beach, seeing in the New Year under a starry sky had been one of the best days of his life.

The uneven tinkling of bells attracted his attention and he turned his head, the corners of his mouth turning up as he met the yellow-eyed gaze of the new arrivals, who were clambering up the hillside toward him followed by a vocal young man who was shouting unheeded instructions at them.

"There's actually goats!" said a delighted voice beside him.

"I promised you goats – you get goats," he answered, squeezing her closer in her spot under his arm. He turned to look at her, her eyes as sapphire blue as the sky, and sparkling in just the same way as the sun on the ocean. "That's why I chose Mykonos. It's a veritable goat paradise."

"You've promised me a lot of things over the years, Beaman, but I'm not sure a goat paradise was one of them," she laughed up at him.

"I don't think it's the goats that make this paradise, Francine," he replied, leaning in to drop a kiss on her lips.

"Possibly not, but it was a nice touch," she answered, reaching up to cup his cheek.

"Will you marry me?" he asked.

"Still no, but you go on and keep asking. One of these years I might surprise you and say yes." She glanced at her watch. "And by my math, it's about midnight back in DC right now." She pulled him down to kiss her again, laughing against his lips, before pulling away to gaze up at him. "Happy New Year, Efraim."

"Happy New Year, Francine."


End file.
